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peachysnzs · 3 years

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self-indulgent homest/uck snzfic

omg i literally entirely forgot i wrote a snzfic already a bit ago... its so self indulgent and messy writing wise and also homest/uck but uploading just in case

okok short debrief for context, karkat is a troll, dave is a human that can fly long story, matesprit is romantic partner, and trickster mode is a mode where ppl get drunk/high off a specific lolipop and have little to no restraint of themselves + gives them bright colors

// mess, intentional contagion

“h-hehh…eH’tchIUh!!!”

Karkat paused from reading his book. That... was a sound that sounded suspiciously like Dave sneezing. Hesistantly, he pushed himself up, walking out of his room and peering into Dave’s room. After all, he had no idea if the pitiful human was sick or not. What kind of matesprit would he be if he didn’t even check?

Dave’s room was empty. Which was odd. Karkat could’ve sworn he said he was going to be in there for the day, though he didn’t explain why, where the fuck did he head off to? It’s not like their joint house was big or anything. Where the hell was that nookwhi-

Something that sounded… almost like giggling rang through the air.

What the fuck.

It sounded like it came from behind Karkat, and he quickly whirled around, but not fast enough. He saw something that almost looked like a flash, a flash of bright colors and cheery pastels, before it vanished in the blink of the ganderbulbs. Like said before, what the fuck.

A sniffle. Alright, thats too much.

Karkat whirled around, shouting “Dave, what the FUCK is going on??”, not really caring for his dignity much in the moment. It had to be Dave. This was a prank or some bullshit. And then slowly, following the noise, his eyes trailed up. Up….up…up….

Dave Strider was currently floating in the air, dreamily staring down at him and just barely grazing the surface of the ceiling, adorned with mint-green hair, a pastel pink-and-yellow god tier outfit, and red, thick gunk dripping steadily out of his flushed nose as he grinned at him. Holy fucking shit, who the fuck was this and what had they done to Dave?

A vague memory registered in the back of Karkat’s mind, of Dirk mentioning how some candy made everyone insane and go Trickster mode as their outfits and demeanor became more…colorful. How the fuck did Dave go Trickster mode??? How the fuck does that work???

“hey karkles hows it hangin? cmon dudeee lighten up a lil, your expression is s-so… hiH’TCHUh! so shocked right now” Dave drawled. As he sneezed, he lazily spread his hand over his nose, catching half of the snot in it and letting the rest of the bright red concocture mist the floor beneath him, which included Karkat. Karkat could feel the wet moisture on his skin, and he shuddered, stepping back.

“Dave, what the fuck??? Gog, fucking cover your mouth, are you contagious?? Get down, now.” Karkat spat out, exasperated at how nonchalant the imposter was. Dave simply laughed at him. “me? contagious? nah im fineeee”

Dave sniffled again, the sound much more wet than previously, and rubbed his fist against his nose, smearing the red gunk all over his hand. He smirked as he slowly withdrew his hand, spreading his fingers experimentally and watching the red mucus web between his slender fingers, glistening. “totally not contagious at all” he fibbed.

Karkat could only watch in horror as Dave slowly flew down, feet clicking against the tiled floor. “hey karkitty i do-hihh…n’t k-know about you…” His expression screwed up for a second, as he fought to calm his hitching breaths. After a moment, Dave’s grin returned to his face, and with a face smeared with germ-laden gunk, he purred. “but i feel like making out right now.”

Karkat found his voice again, and he stumbled back a few more steps. “Holy shit, no- are you even *hearing* yourself, Dave??? You’re sick, you can’t-you can’t just pretend you’re not, what the fuck??? Dave, I-“

Dave leaned forward and nipped at Karkat’s neck and he whimpered.

He could feel it. The wet mess dripping onto his neck, as Dave gave a shallow sniff and as his breath hitched even more, the vibrations against his skin, Dave’s saliva intermingling with the rest of the shit getting onto his neck as he sucked gently and gave him a hickey. The sensation was so taboo and revolting it was almost…

Dave leaned back, expression contorted. His narrow eyes seemed to almost stare through Karkat, and he paused, before, oh, fuck, it sunk in. “g-ghh- gonna…sn-heHh..eeze!-“ he forced out, and even as he was about to fucking sneeze, he still managed a wavering smirk as he tried to stare down at Karkat. It didn’t even look like he was trying to pull away, if anything, he had leaned forward, leaving only a few inches between them as he used his finger to gently guide Karkat’s chin up.

Speaking of which, Karkat felt himself frozen in place, too shocked by how quickly everything had just happened to dodge the incoming flood. “heh-HE’tchIU! hihh..hih..h’tsHIU!!” The lazy covering that Dave had done before wasn’t even present. Dave sneezed freely and openly on Karkat, and Karkat instinctively shut his eyes, feeling the contagious mist against his skin. Dave wasn’t done yet, though.

Karkat could only open his eyes for a second, seeing a strand of snot dangling from Dave’s nose as he leaned his head back, right before Dave went back to sneezing. “EH’tchu! Hi’hishuu!! Ehtchuu! hih..ih-HISSHU!!” Sneeze after sneeze, rapidfire. Fuck, it was disgusting, but Karkat’s face felt soaked, totally fucking decimated after Dave’s sneezing fit that he didn’t even bother covering. Was this his plan? What the fuck??? Realizing that he hasn’t breathed at all during all that, Karkat let in a shaky breath, and then immediately regretted it as it set in that he probably just breathed in more of the shit.

Shuddering, he quickly wiped off his face, cringing as he saw the red fluid coating his sleeve. Holy shit, how much even was that? “D-Dave, what the fuck-“ Karkat started, but Dave cut him off with a smile. “dont worry im not contagious karkitty. now about the makeouts…” Dave reached up to cup his cheek and run his thumb against Karkat’s lip, and Karkat went pale as he remembered the web of wet gunk between his fingers. Oh goddamnit, he had just wiped his face.

Deep down, he knew wiping his face did nothing.

“We know that’s fucking bullshit. Are you trying to get me sick?!? I-I’m not going to make-out with you, not when- ah-“ Karkat started, and then Dave shut him up by licking a stripe up the hickey he had given him earlier.

Dave let his red eyes fall upon Karkat’s. His red nose dripping, glistening, eyes narrowed, mouth curled up like a cheshire cat, he leaned forward and whispered in Karkat’s ear, the congestion in his voice evident “karkat. lets entertain the thought i am contagious, ok?” Karkat shivered, but this time in an entirely different context.

“its too late for you. from the first sneeze, from the moment i got this cold, you were doomed. even if you tried to leave” He giggled, deliriously. “i already sneezed into your pillows, to let these theoretical germs have home there too. sharing is caring, right? and you’re going to get this cold…hih…” Karkat stared, dumbfounded. Dave leaned back from his ear, and placed a finger gently on Karkat’s nose, tracing the edges. “i-in here.”

a pause, and then a grin.

“so-hiHh- s-so why try to…t-to avoid…ihh…hiH’TSHIUU!! eh’tsHIU!!” Dave’s head snapped forward. His sneezes were getting more wet, and mucus sprayed onto his face, leaving wet stains on his sweatshirt. Karkat couldn’t even process what was going on any more. And then, Dave gently leaned forward, stopping just before his lips. “just enjoy it.” The taboo of it all… the seductive gleam in Dave’s eyes…Dave’s erection pressing against his leg… the most obvious fact that Dave was into this (and that they probably had to had a talk later, jesus, openess about kinks was important)…God, it was too much.

Karkat’s may or may not have leaned forward to meet his lips.

And well, if Karkat let Dave shove his tongue into his mouth, if he let Dave sniffle and sneeze onto him, damning him and most definitely ensuring he’d be just as snotty and disgusting as him later, if he did, well, nobody had to know.

#snzfic #snez #snz #sneeze kink #sickstuck #sneezestuck #peachywrites #god ok rereading this was a trip lemme tell u #mess #contagion

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partypetes · 4 years

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TUA Creator’s Bingo: Hazel

Summary: An old friend stops by. Certain people don’t appreciate this.

Pairings/Characters: Klaus Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves, Five Hargreeves, Hazel

Word Count: 1054

Square Filled: Hazel

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Bentacles

A/N: look i like hazel A LOT as a character but he cant just waltz back in here with no consequences. i was originally going to have dave in here, but someone Just wrote the perfect fic of dave decking hazel and it was too beautiful to top, so i went for the next best thing.

AO3 Link(soon? i dont know how i feel about this one)

Klaus was pretty sure the mansion was empty. He was doing a lot of aimless wandering as he talked to himself and nobody at all for lack of interesting company.

But the universe seemed to realize how bored he was, and how desperate he was for a distraction. Idle hands, and all that.

Now, usually when someone was at the door, it was Grace or Pogo’s job to answer and ward off any unpleasant customers trying to hound the Academy. But Klaus was already in the living room, and when he heard the knock he couldn’t help the way his feet carried him. He wanted a something to do and couldn’t stand to be alone in his room, so dealing with whoever was gracing their front door seemed like a fantastic idea. With any luck, it was someone more interesting than a random fan.

He opened the door with a flourish, “Welcome to Casa De Hargreeves, home of the world’s saddest superh-oly fuck!” He immediately slammed the door and pressed his back up against it after seeing who it was, his heart hammering.

After a moment, there was another patient knock. It rattled him out of some of his shock. “Hey!” The man called, “I’m sorry about the torture, okay? I’ve just gotta talk to your brother and then I’ll go.”

At the mention of brother, Klaus tugged on the ever present feeling in his chest. “Sure, fine! Sure! I’ll get on that!” He shouted, a hysteric edge to his voice. Ben appeared in front of him with a confused frown at being summoned so suddenly, looking like he was mid-chapter in his ever present book.

“..Klaus?” Ben asked slowly, noticing how pale and weird he looked.

“There’s someone at the door for one of my brothers.” Klaus said with a hysteric giggle, then clapped his hand over his mouth as another knock came, his eyes wide. He scrambled away from the door and backed up, trying not to trip over himself. Was he shaking? When did he start shaking?

Ben furrowed his brow and stuck his ghostly head out the door. He must’ve been visible for some reason, because he heard Hazel give an undignified shriek. Most people did that when Ben decided to stick his head through doors unannounced.

“Klaus,” He said, head back inside as he turned to glare at his brother. “Make me corporeal.” With that, he stepped out the door.

Unfortunately for Hazel, Klaus was beginning to have a pretty good grasp on his Ben-related powers. And his powers were more often than not fueled by fear, so. Ben seemed to know what he was talking about like always, and got what he wanted.

“What- who the fuck are you?” He heard a muffled voice ask, “What are you?”

“Klaus’ brother.” Ben replied darkly. There was a moment of silence.

Hazel screamed.

Klaus was stuck to the marble floor, his body freezing as his powers flooded through him and mingled with his ice cold fear. The shouting and threatening from outside was enough to summon Five, at least. He took one look at a terrified Klaus with his vibrant, glowing hands and swore.

Five flung the front door open for both to see an ethereal Ben with his hoodie pulled up, two tentacles suspending his former coworker high up in the air. Ben had a dark, dark look in his eye as they writhed and tightened around the man.

“Five!” Hazel yelled, “Do something, please!”

“Ben!” Five shouted even as he took a step back, because the sight of The Horror in full form was still enough to rattle even the most ruthless of pint-sized assassins. “Drop him!”

“He hurt Klaus.” Ben hissed, his voice… not right, “He tortured Klaus, they tortured him, hours, days--”

“We’re even, Ben! He fixed it!”

Ben’s dark eyes turned on Five, and Five took a sharp breath. “Fixed it?” He replied coolly, “Fixed the hours of trauma and torment a master assassin inflicted on our brother?” He raised his voice, but it wasn’t quite his voice anymore. “On Klaus?”

“Let him down and we’ll- I’ll explain everything.” Five finally gathered himself enough to take a few steps forward. “Come on Ben, this isn’t you.”

“He hurt Klaus.” They snarled.

Hazel was just doing a bunch of pleading and begging, and Five cast a worried, if not somewhat disdainful look at him. “He redeemed himself and he needs a second chance, just like we do.”

“Not for this.” The tentacles tightened a fraction. Hazel stopped making anything more than choked, gasping sounds. They were on a time crunch now. “Never for this.”

“Ben,” Five implored, eyes wide and frantic, “Are- are you helping Klaus right now? Are you really helping?” He looked back towards the sheet-white and glowing blue Klaus, frozen in the doorway. Ben followed his gaze, and then he and Five made eye contact again.

Ben shuddered, casting one last look of pure malice towards Hazel before the tentacles retreated in seconds.

Hazel fell to the ground with an audible thump, and Five winced. He was at least a few yards in the air when Ben dropped him like a sack of bricks.

Striding past Five, Ben wrapped an arm around his fear-frozen brother. Usually it was Klaus initiating all the affection between the brothers, but this was a special occasion where Klaus’s arms were clamped over his ribs in a death grip on himself. Ben had to take the initiative, obviously. He gently jostled Klaus, searching his face intently.

“Klaus. Listen, Klaus, you’re safe, okay?” He said, his voice firm and even, “You’re at the Academy, and I’ll kick Hazel’s ass again if he even steps towards you. You’re safe with me. I won’t let him touch you.”

Klaus sucked in a shuddery breath, and then another, and then another. “Thanks, Benny.” He mumbled, still fixated on Hazel even as Ben gently tried to walk them back towards the stairs. “Thank you. Thanks.”

“Any time.” Ben replied, “Believe me. Any time.”

“Fucking hell.” Five breathed out. “Forget Klaus’ powers, we’re working on yours next.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Ben said ominously, looking over his shoulder. “You weren’t there, Five.” There was a hint of blame in his voice.

“..I know, Ben.” Five sighed. “We’ll fix it, though. We always do.”

#the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #five hargreeves #tuacreatorsbingo #hazel(the umbrella academy)

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corvid-knight · 6 years

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Can't Stop Won't Stop

Hoo boy.

Instead of an attempt at a real summary, I'm just going to say a couple things here. One, this is an old fic. Either the second or third homestuck thing I ever wrote. Two, this was written when I was in maybe the shittiest mental state I've ever been in, so like. It's kind of straight out wish fulfillment ("hey I hate my life love me" kind of thing.) (Also I swear things have gotten a hell of a lot better since I wrote this. Like. Don't worry.)

There's self-harm in this.

There's also a rare instance of me writing Dave rapping. I'm still very proud of that even if it sucks.

Nobody dies and there's no blood spilt. I promise.

(Read it on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031870)

You are DAVE STRIDER. You're alone in your room, in the dark but for the glow of your computer screen. You're still wearing your shades, though—you always wear the shades, partly because your best bro John gave them to you, partly because you don't like people to see your eyes, and partly because your eyes are hella sensitive to light. Of course, if anyone asks, you wear them because you are the coolest dude on earth.

Not that that's saying much anymore. You, John, Dirk (not your Bro, no matter how much he looks and talks and acts like your Bro he's not), and Jake are probably the last male humans in this universe. And it's your fault, isn't it? You started the game that ended the world.

You push your shades up onto your forehead, rub your eyes, and settle them back into place again.

John's called you a hero, but you're...

You started the game.

You were too afraid to kill your own sleeping self and go godtier.

You were too slow and weak to help your Bro.

You started the game, and that's the one that repeats in your head, all the splintered versions of yourself murmuring it because in everything that you've done that's the thing that haunts you. You invited John into this, you entered as his server player, you were the one who didn't see the danger until it was too late, you were the one who ended the world. You were the one who killed everyone, really, John's dad and Rose's mom and your own Bro, and everything that followed was a result of what you did.

You are anything but a hero.

You shake off the dark thoughts, for a moment at least, and open a new tab in your browser, pulling up the question forum where you left a question. It was simple enough: Is suicide considered either Heroic or Just? In other words, if you're godtier and you kill yourself, will it take?

You went full-on anonymous. Plain black text, no username or anything. Nothing to show who you are.

There's a reply. Five words, in off-yellow text: dont bee a fuckiing iidiiot.

You stare at the words for a moment, then type in a placating reply: It's just a question. Don't get all uptight, dude.

You know who uses that color and quirk, but this forum seems to exist in a half-dozen timelines at once, and you've gotten answers from past and future versions of your friends before, so it might not be exactly who you think it is.

Before you even finish that thought, another message comes up: ii'm not beeing uptiight, youre beeing 2tupiid. death fuckiing hurt2, and the people you leave beehiind get hurt even wor2e.

Your fingers move across the keyboard, spelling out your thoughts and hitting the enter key before you can think about what you're saying: I deserve it, death can't hurt any more than living does, and no one cares enough to be hurt when I do it.

Reading your words onscreen, you realize that you wrote "when" instead of "if." It's really the first time that you admitted, even to yourself, that you're going to go through with this.

While you're still considering that admission, more words come up: 2top. just 2top, ok? ii dont care how much you thiink people hate you. even iif you think there i2 no one out there who care2, there ii2 2omeone, 2omewhere, who wiill cry when youre gone. dont you fuckiing dare hurt your2elf, 2triider.

You puzzle over the last word for a minute before you see that it's supposed to be your name. When you get it, you freeze for a second, then type: I'm not Strider. I don't know who you're talking about.

This time the reply comes back almost immediately: come on dude. we both know ii'm capable of traciing you back, and you diidnt exactly cover your track2. and ii mean what ii 2aiid. iif your hurt your2elf, youre hurtiing everyone who know2 you, and ii'm countiing my2elf iin that. ii dont have enough friiend2 to lo2e another one, dave.

"Damn it," you mutter. "Don't make this about you, Sollux." You type in: You don't know me.

You're about to close the tab and shut down your computer for the night, but before you can move the cursor to the X, another message comes up: 2triider, ii know you better than ii know my be2t friiend. ii know what iit'2 liike to know that your friiend2 are goiing to diie, and have to 2tand iidly by and do nothiing. ii know what it'2 like to 2ee your lu2u2—or parent, whatever—diie in front of you. ii know about your brother, ii know you thiink you kiiled hiim, and ii'm here to tell you that you diidnt.

You hit each key deliberately, but not as hard as you want to: dont talk about bro to me.

You wait for the answer this time, and it does come: you diid nothiing wrong. there wa2 nothing any of u2 could have done to 2ave hiim. to 2ave any of them. ii know, dave.

Your lip hurts from how hard you're chewing on it. It's a stupid nervous habit that Bro trained you out of when you were ten, and you've only started doing it again since he's been gone. You type: Shut up. You don't know anything about it, you weren't there.

The screen stays static after your text comes up, and you stare at it, biting your lip and praying that no more yellow text will come up, that you'll reach the point when you can shut down the computer and walk away. You think of walking into the bathroom, opening the cabinet in the dark and reaching up to the back of the top shelf, feeling around for the still-sealed box of razor blades—

But more words are appearing, under your last ones: ii kiilled my mate2priit wiith my own hands. my lu2u2 diied a2 ii watched. the giirl that could have been my mate2priit 2tepped iin front me and diied takiing a hiit that wa2 2uppo2ed to kiil me. ii wa2 almo2t 2 where you are now, and iit took a hell of a lot of repiitiion2 for my friiend2 2 get thii2 through my thiick 2kull: no matter what you diid or thiink you diid, you dont get to pa22 judgement on your2elf. you are not your own judge, jaiilor, and executiioner. you are not.

You stare at the screen. You honestly don't know what to say to that, what arguements you could use, because half of you can see the truth there.

After a moment, more words come up: 2triider? you 2tiill there?

"How can you know me this well?" you ask, leaning back and pulling your shades off, letting them dangle loosely from one hand, and in the same breath you say, "You don't know shit."

More yellow text comes up: goddammiit 2triider

"I killed everyone," you say, and every bit of your soul believes that statement. You let the shades slip out of your fingers, onto the floor, as you tip the chair back, finding perfect equilibrium and balancing it on two legs. "Every one of my friends, over and over again."

And more: dave fuckiing an2wer me

"I'm worse than useless." You close your eyes. "When I die, at least I can't kill them again."

You'll get up. In a minute, and you do mean in a minute, but suddenly you're tired and you want to sit for a sec. When you get up, you'll go into the bathroom. No need for the lights—you know where what you need is, and you know where the shower is. You can turn the shower on in the dark, that'll wash most of the blood away and make it a little less disgusting for whoever finds you.

Someone shouts—a hoarse inarticulate battle cry—and, from the sound of it, slams a battering ram into your door. Startled, you overbalance the chair. "Shit—" You swallow the rest of the sentence as you hit the floor, bite your lip, and taste blood.

The door's locked, but whoever's pounding on it doesn't seem to care, and after a second blow something splinters. For a moment, even the low light from the hallway is too bright, and you have to blink a few times before you can recognise who it is in your doorway.

Whoever it is short and dark, with nubby horns that almost hide under the artfully messy black hair. Karkat Vantas, you realize a moment before he starts shouting.

"Strider! Fucking answer me!" He sounds angry, he always sounds angry, but there's a current of worry underneath the anger that you've never heard from him before. "Dave!"

"Did you just break my door down?" You sit up, fingering your lip. It hurts, and there's blood staining your fingers when you take your hand away. "Haven't you heard of knocking?"

"You—" Karkat looks past you, higher than your head. At the computer screen behind you. "Fuck..." And he strides across the room and kneels next to you. "Sollux messaged me. He said he was afraid you were going to do something stupid."

"I'm fine." It's a lie, you can hear how bad a lie it is as you say it. You fumble around on the floor, looking for your shades in the faint light from the hall and from your computer. After a second, your hand brushes against them, and you scoop them up. Before you can put them back on, Karkat snatches them out of your hand.

"Don't you fucking lie," he growls, reaching back and setting them on the desk, out of your reach. "Don't you distance yourself like that. What the fuck are you thinking? You can't just die, it doesn't work like that. How the fuck do you think the rest of us are going to feel?"

You wipe your mouth again, and look at the faint streak of red instead of at Karkat. "I'm the reason you can count 'the rest of us' on your fingers," you point out quietly. "You'd be better off—"

"Fucking nooksniffer bulgebrain wriggler," Karkat mutters, and puts his hands on your head, the hollows of his palms at your temples. He pulls your head up, forcing you to meet his strange eyes, shockingly yellow and black with no sclera, framed by shadows darker than his grey skin. His hands are warm, further reminding you how alien he is. "Stop talking like you're fucking expendable. You're a person, not some piece in some cosmic fucking game, and you're not fucking killing yourself."

"I—" You have some arguement, you have it half-planned in your mind, but he runs his hands upward through your hair, like you're some small animal he's petting, and the strangeness of it—the amazing gentleness of his hands, so much at odds with his anger—drives everything else out of your head.

Karkat makes a noise that isn't anything like a word, just a incoherent expression of anger. "What do you humans even do without horns?" he mutters. "I don't fucking get how you people calm each other down. I...fuck." He takes his hands out of your hair—you find yourself oddly sad about that—and sits back on his heels, dragging one arm across his face. When he takes it away, you realize that he's close to tears. "I'm no fucking good at this shit," he says, reaching out with one sharp-nailed finger and wiping a last bit of blood off your lips. "I got fucking lucky last time, one time, and now Sol texts me...he knows how I feel about you, he knows I couldn't stay away and let you..."

"Wh-what?" Something about him is incredibly calming, it always is, even when he's shouting; it's like he's some soothing drug, making you feel like everything is almost all right. But sometimes, you find yourself listening to his voice so closely that you miss what words he's saying. He can't have implied what you inferred. "I don't—"

"You need a moirail, or a fucking matesprit," Karkat says bluntly, "and I wish it was me. And don't give me that 'not a homosexual' shit—number one, it doesn't make any fucking sense, and number two, I've seen how you look at Egbert." He shakes his head, meeting your eyes for a second and then looking down. "You...fuck, I don't know."

"I...this isn't about John. None of this is about him." You feel your face heating up, a blush that you know lights your albino skin like a traffic light. Karkat's right: you look at John, when he's not paying attention, and you had a crush on him, when you met him and before you met him, and you love him and always will, like a brother. But he isn't interested in you as anything else, and you know it, and the peeks that you sneak add up to nothing more than one more guilt to be thrown upon a pile already sky-high. "I never said I was straight—"

"I don't know what that means." Karkat shrugs.

"It means..." Staring at his lowered head, you get an urge to touch him, to feel the heat of his skin, and instead of finishing your sentence, instead of thinking of all the reasons you shouldn't, you reach out and run your fingers through his black hair. It's soft and a little tangled, and as you move your fingers you brush against one of his stubby horns.

Karkat makes a sound like a soft growl, deep in his throat, and his eyes snap up to meet yours. There's pain on his face, pain and sorrow and fear and hope and desire all snarled up together. He reaches out, laying his hands gently against your head again, letting his fingers get tangled in your white hair. He closes his eyes, growling so softly that it can't be called a growl, so softly that he isn't growling, he's...he's purring.

"Karkat," you say, connecting the noise that he's making with his name and forgetting everything in your life except this ridiculous coincidence, this lingual joke across two universes. "Karkat, like a fucking cat, you're a cat, oh my god—"

Karkat lets you go, brushing off your hands as you start to laugh. Fifteen minutes ago you were alone in this room, ready to end everything and force a personal game over, and now you're laughing at a dumb pun that no one in particular created. And that thought makes you laugh harder.

"You really know how to ruin the moment," Karkat grumbles, crossing his arms and looking away from you.

You're still laughing as you lean forward, put one hand under his chin to turn his face to you, and kiss him.

He hesitates for a second, barely long enough for you to fear that you're wrong to do this—and then he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer and kissing you back.

Karkat tastes like salt and sweetness, like something foreign and exotic, something that you've been looking for your entire life and never found before now. His teeth are smooth as you run your tongue across them, nubby like his horns but wickedly sharp, sharp enough to make you feel like you're on the verge of cutting your tongue, that kissing him is flirting with danger like you'd love to flirt with him. He's growling—or purring—again, and it feels like your head is resonating with it, with him.

You slip your hands up under his shirt, touching his skin. Sliding your hands across his chest, feeling the ridges of his ribs, his heart beating faster than yours ever could.

Karkat moans, exhaling into your mouth, then pulls away. He doesn't let go of you, though. "Wait," he says, and you get an unreasonable flash of pride at how out-of-breath he sounds. "No...no pailing, okay? Not tonight. You...you need something to look forward to, and you need to sleep."

He shifts his grip as you're parsing that sentence, then stands up, lifting you like you weigh next to nothing. The pure shock of it holds you still for a moment—he's tiny, he barely comes up to your shoulders, how can he pick you up this easily?—and then you twist in his arms. "Karkat, c'mon, put me down—"

"Would you fucking cooperate?" The door to your bedroom is ajar; Karkat kicks it open and carries you through, depositing you unceremoniously on the bed. "There; you're down." He flicks on the light, then pulls his shirt off over his head, folding it in a few quick motions and laying it on top of your dresser.

"What are you doing?" You sit up, flicking hair out of your eyes.

"You think I'm gonna leave you alone?" Karkat glares at you, crossing his arms defensively in front of his chest. "And come back tomorrow morning, and find you fucking dead? No fucking way. Move over."

You don't, but he sits down on the bed anyway.

"Karkat—" You stop yourself. Take a deep breath, hold it for a second, let it out again. You don't know why you're arguing with him; you don't want him to go. "Okay."

And you do something that you wouldn't do if it were someone else sitting there, if it were John or Dirk or fucking anyone but Karkat—or if you hadn't seen the oh-so-faint scars covering his chest and back like spiderwebs, only a shade paler than his grey skin. You pull your shirt off, wadding it into a ball and tossing it off the end of the bed. It takes all of your self-control to keep your hands at your sides, to not cross your arms and try to hide what's on your skin.

"Wow." Karkat's tone is soft, not pitying but maybe a bit sad. He touches you lightly with one long-nailed finger, starting at your shoulder and following the tracery downward. "What are they from?"

Usually, you don't talk about your scars. Usually, you don't even admit they exist. Now, you take Karkat's hand and guide it to the worst and most noticable one, the thick vertical line dead center of your chest. "This one's from Jack Noir. When he...stabbed me. Killed me." You move his hand upward, to one running diagonally across your shoulder. This one's thinner, but longer as well, and you can still remember when it happened. "This one, I was sparring with Bro, and one of us fucked up. Probably me." To the other side, lower, a horizontal cut that's faded to almost nothing. "The first time I ever practiced with Bro, I didn't realize that blades bounce, and he...he didn't know I wouldn't know that."

Karkat pulls his hand down to your stomach, brushing his fingers against the close-set ladderwork of horizontal scars there. "How about these?" His voice is unspeakably gentle, so much so that he doesn't sound like the Karkat you know, and you know he already knows the answer to the question.

"Those—" You have to stop for a second. You've never admitted this, not to anyone, and as far as you know no one knows. "Me. Those are from me, okay?"

Every one of those cuts is for a memory of your Bro. After he died, after you knew he was gone, you sat in the dark and you went through your mind, searching out reasons you shouldn't miss him. For every one you found, you cut another line into your skin.

There were so many reasons.

When you turned the light on, you were kind of surprised by how much blood there was.

You're shaking.

Karkat growls in what sounds like annoyance, and stands up. You watch him, afraid that he's going to leave but somehow unable to call him back.

He steps over to the light switch and flicks it off. Your night vision is awful, and as soon as the room goes dark you are, effectively, blind, but you can hear the mattress creak as he sits down.

"Lie down, Dave." That strange gentleness is still in his voice, and as soon as you do what he says he rolls over next to you, putting one arm across your chest like an anchor.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, and you don't even know what you're apologising for.

"You didn't do anything wrong. It's okay. Go to sleep."

"I love you." You don't know why you say that. It's true, but you've never said it to anyone before, not that you can remember; you've always been too afraid to say it.

"Yeah. I love you, too, if it means what I think it does." Karkat sighs. "Go the fuck to sleep, Dave."

And you close your eyes, and you fall asleep, with Karkat lying warmly against you.

You are KARKAT VANTAS, and you can see a little better that Dave can in this darkness, which is to say that you can just make out vague shapes. You watch Dave in the dark, feeling the rythm of his breath slow and stabilize, fall into a calm pattern. He's asleep now, and you can stop worrying. For a minute, at least.

You're not going to leave him here. You're not going to go to sleep, either. Ever since this game started, ever since you first loaded that fucking game into your computer, you've been plagued with intense nightmares. Even before this all started, you had trouble sleeping sometimes; now that you're almost afraid of what waits for you in your dreams, you often stay awake until you physically can't keep your eyes open any longer.

And you don't like human-style beds all that much. Recupracoons make so much more sense.

You run your fingers across Dave's scars again, lightly enough that you won't wake him, starting with the worst one—Jack's—and working your way outward in a widening spiral. His scars show up so much worse than yours—human skin must not heal as efficiently as troll skin. Either that, or Dave's been hurt almost to the point of dying, over and over again.

You don't want to believe that, but you could—Dave looks and talks tough, seems cool and polished, but when he lets his guard fall, he's so fractured and fragile that it hurts your fucking heart. He's like no one you know; if he'd been a troll, he would have either been culled by now or been selected to train as an elite soldier. You'd like to believe the latter, but you honestly don't know.

And he's not a troll, anyway. He's human, uniquely beautiful and alien, different from you and from everyone you've always known. He is like a reflection of yourself in a cracked mirror, like the other half of everything you are.

You're barely awake, at this point. The realization alone should be enough to banish sleep, but all you can find the energy to do is mutter, "Fuck it," and squirm a little closer to Dave.

His skin is cooler than yours, you think as you close your eyes. Like a highblood's, or maybe not a highblood...Terezi? Equius? Not Gamzee, if you remember right (which you might not; it's been so long since you've touched Gamzee, and that though brings a pang of guilt), warmer than Gamzee's skin but only by a little...

You're still contemplating blood tempature when you fall asleep.

Sleep is as big a mistake as you knew it would be, fraught with blood like a liquid rainbow, pain that's only a shadow of what pain can be but still hurts like fuck, memories that are undeniably your own (no matter how much you'd like to deny them) and memories that are hellishly familiar and yet bewilderingly not-yours. Part of the time you know that you're dreaming, but you still can't force yourself awake.

When you do finally wake up, you do it with a stifled whimper, your hands closing convulsively on—

Flesh. Dave's shoulders. At some point, you moved even closer to him, draping yourself over him and curling against him, and now you're pretty fucking sure you just drove your fingernails deep enough into his skin to draw blood. And you're still in the grip of the nightmare, unable to breathe deep enough to apologise, unable to do anything other than shake and cling to him.

"Bad dream?" Dave's whisper is barely loud enough to be heard over your own heartbeat. "I know how that is."

You breath as deeply as you can, shedding some measure of the unreasoning fear, growl, "I'm fucking fine," and immediately regret saying it.

Dave is silent for a second. "Fine," he replies, thoughtfully. "I know I'm not fine, and I don't think you are, either. Not really. But that's okay." One of his hands comes up, stroking your hair but staying well clear of your horns—even though he's not troll, he seems to get that there are times when horns can be touched and times that they definitely should not be. "Right?"

You can feel the vibration that'll become a purr starting in your chest, and it makes you feel even more ashamed for snapping at him. "I'm sorry," you mutter.

Dave considers that for another long moment, fingers combing absently through your hair. When he speaks again, it's not in a whisper but in a low voice that has a cadence that you've heard from him before, when he's rapping with someone else. "So fine my line between loving and dying, in the nick of time you arrive and you strive to keep me alive, don't let me take a dive, you know you saved my life, broke me out of my strife, brought me relief and taught me belief with the words that you weave—" He runs out of breath, inhales sharply, and keeps going, although his voice goes a bit hoarser with every word, "Karkat, please don't leave, you're what I need and without you I'd bleed: words, blood, and pain, colder than death's reign, I would go insane, you're all that can tame the storm in my brain—"

Dave's voice cracks, and he stops rapping. You can hear his breathing, though, ragged and uneven, as he fights not to cry.

"Fuck," you say softly. You can feel your own tears on your face. "Oh, fuck, Dave, fucking..." There are no words, nothing you can find to say, so instead you reach out in the dark, finding Dave's face and wiping tears away as gently as you can. You're so bad at this, always have been, and you're afraid that you'll do something to hurt him worse as you try to comfort him.

Without even thinking, you run one hand through his hair, feeling for horns and not finding any. Dave sighs shakily as you mentally curse yourself.

"Don't leave me," he says quietly, and his voice breaks again on the second word. "Please—"

"You're fucking kidding me." You lean forward, pressing your lips against his forehead for a brief second. "I'd rather cut off my right hand than leave you alone, Strider, and don't you fucking forget it."

He exhales sharply, a gasp turned inside out, and pulls you down just a little, just enough that your mouth meets his. This kiss is even better than the first time, if that's possible. It lasts what seems like forever and like no time at all, and this time Dave's the one who breaks it.

"Are we—are we still on 'no pailing?'" he asks, and you can hear a wicked smile in his voice. "Because if we are, I might be about to have a problem—"

"Fuck that," you tell him, and find his mouth with your own again.

And he is smiling, and you swear on your soul that you won't ever let him stop.

#Dave #Karkat #Davekat #a fuckin' relic

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jenniferstolzer · 7 years

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Buffy season 1 disk 2

ep 5 Never Kill a Boy on the First Date

this is the second vampire in the show that looks like Trakis

Wait you came here for Buffy not B5 references? So sorry they aren’t stopping.

Buffy’s hot for mysterious poetry boy in the library. It’s a cute scene of her showing some vulnerability. Then she ends by asking Giles if her dress makes her look fat. Fat girls are gross you guys. Girls should always be worried about if they’re fat. Boys don’t like chunks man, especially when they’ve got 0 body fat. No Im not going to stop, it pisses me off. Get back to the vampires.

Holy shit Xander “for kissing you and telling the school how easy you are.” Buzz off bro. I’m staggered.

Willow was worried about Giles, which she had reason to be b/c now he’s locked in a bathroom.

Angel is pretty much Tuxedo Mask. He arrives as sexy as possible, says little, helps not at all, leaves mysteriously.

omg take Owen to the funeral home. He’s so excited. You can leave him by the coffin displays and he’ll be occupied for hours trying them all on for size.

I like action Giles even if he’s really bad at it. And.... knocked unconscious! He’s def gonna be my fave.

Oh come on, buff vampire, you jumped right into that incinerator, that was so easily avoided.

Owen is an adrenaline junkie and only wants to date Buffy b/c nearly got him killed. And he reads Emily Dickenson. Maybe he should see the councilor from the last episode.

I’m glad Watcher is not a gender specific job like Slayer. Also Giles wanted to be a fighter pilot. And he’s such a good dad. and Buffy is worried about getting him hurt. Omg I’ve found my platonic duo. The show has officially nabbed me.

6 The Pack

There are were-hyenas in this. I’m in.

“You haven’t had a crush lately?” “No, not lately.” Buffy... it was last episode. Also Angel is way too old for Buffy, even not being a vampire.

I’m not going to point out every time a fat joke gets made. Just assume there’s at least one per episode.

I love Herbert. And the principle. I like them both :)

Xander’s moodier than usual. They have to work really hard to show that b/c he’s moody all the time. Lol that pig is totally not making those noises.

I hope Xander gets eaten. I won’t miss him. DONT YOU DARE EAT THAT PIG HE IS THE LIGHT OF GOOD!

Lol Buffy complains to Giles that Xander’s being a jackass. Giles is like “Xander’s just like that.” I knew you were my favorite, G. NO HERBERT OH NO YOU MONSTERS! The principle is upset b/c you ate his pet and he SHOULD BE BECAUSE HE LOVED THAT PIG!

HOLY SHIT THEY ATE THE PRINCIPAL, TOO! This ep is brutal! That poor animal loving man.

DO NOT EAT THE LADY WITH THE INFANT

Hyenas will track the missing member of their pack until they find them. Well how terribly convenient. Established in this ep that Hyenas call your name. Maybe they should have been possessed by a parrot.

Giles do not go in the hyena house alone. That zookeeper is sketch as hell. He’s standing in there and he’s like “Oh damn I stumbled into it again.” It’s great watching him realize he’s messed up. Then he gets beaten up again. I’m glad (most) the characters are not dumb.

RIP Herbert and Herbert’s dad

7 Angel

The Three are like Blade in Triplicate. Also a Fumigation Party is hilarious.

Everyone learn from Buffy. If you’re in a pissy mood, you probably need to go to bed. Say goodnight, it’s the responsible thing to do.

She shouted “Get in, come on!” but it sounded an awful lot like an ADR line. I think they did that when they realized Angel just came in uninvited then told her vampires can’t come in uninvited. In universe, though? Very very lucky Buffy shouted “Get in!” when she did or he’d be torn apart by evil Blades.

“Angel?” “Yeah?” “Do you snore?” I thought that was really cute ^^

“We’re not going to be fighting Friar Tuck.” Shut up Buffy, you don’t know that.

Angel admits to being a cradle robber.

I like the way vampires work in this universe. They’re demons that take over peoples bodies. They steal your identity, but once you turn you’re dead b/c you lose your soul. I like that a lot. I predict it gets ret-conned.

That tattoo was 200 years old? Heck no, unless he was in for a really recent touch-up.

The Master or whoever is reminding me so hard of G’Kar right now, lol. It’s b/c he’s posturing like a diva and shaking his head around a lot. The way his makeup wrinkles doesn’t help the likeness although G’Kar is far handsomer.

Misunderstanding. Come back from commercial and Angel’s tossed out a window. That was an excellent transition.

I love Giles sitting with Buffy’s mom talking about parenting concerns since they’re pretty much her parents. Does Buffy’s mom have a name?

So Angel was cursed to have his soul back by gypsies. Somehow both a trope and a subversion of a trope? And speaking of tropes, blonde chick saunters in wearing another school girl uniform like its a fetish.

The Master then has a room-trashing temper tantrum shouting. “She was my favorite for four hundred years!” and he officially sheds his G’Kar and becomes the new Radu.

There is no way I can be threatened by him or his Damien.

8 I Robot... you Jane.

I’m excited for this one b/c it promises to have a robot in it.

SHIT THERE’S A DRAKH IN THIS!!! KILL IT WITH FIRE!

Recall from the whole Na’Far thing back in episode 4 that the same makeup/special effects shop worked on both Buffy and Babylon 5 so it may just be a Drakh, I mean who the hell knows? They’re definitely using the same design language for the vampires they did for like every alien in Crusade.

OMG Giles’ name is Rupert. And hearing all this 1997 technology scare is just HILARIOUS. What would Rupert say if he knew I had a computer in my butt pocket that could run the space shuttle? Also Miss Calendar is flirting so hard with Giles it’s like the little boy pulling his crush’s pigtails on the playground.

Dangit! There’s no robot! It’s Tom Riddle.

OMG Miss Calendar’s crimped hair is atrocious.

lol and if Buffy knew about the future and how online dating is like the #1 way to meet people in the 2010s she’d be saying much different things. Buffy is right about the chemistry thing though. Having a relationship based on personality is great but when you meet in person and there’s no chemistry that’s a thing that needs to be dealt with and OH MY GOSH THAT LAPTOP OH MY LORD

Tonight on this very special episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, cat-fishing, gaslighting, and you.

Good thing this late-90s computer has a speak and spell function so Willow and Malcolm can speak all their lines.

Miss Calendar just pulled the race card for some reason? “You think knowledge should be kept in depositories were only white guys can get them.” Like... in the 90s were poc not allowed in libraries? I mean women obviously are b/c Miss Calendar’s there. She came in there specifically to fight with her boyfriend Giles over whether or not books suck -- which they don’t. And neither does the internet. If she is a computer and Giles is a book their kids are going to be well educated.

Buffy was saved by her rubber soled shoes.

lol the one computer guy is named Dave. “I’m sorry Dave” says the computer. Then he pens Dave’s suicide note. That was done on purpose and I love it. PS the Internet is scary! SCARY OOOH DANGER! DANGER! FEAR!

We get to see Willow’s room! Also I love 90s fantasy tech.

Miss Calendar is a self-proclaimed techno-pagan. “There are more of us out there than you thin.”

OMG THERE IS FINALLY A ROBOT IN THIS EPISODE AND ITS A FREAKIN ROBO DRAKH! I gotta find a way to put this guy in Babylon 6. He’s a riot.

“I don’t dangle a corkscrew from my ear.”

“That’s not where I dangle it.”

Giles:

Okay disk 2 is over. I’m liking the show even more as the edges continue to wear off. The datedness is hilarious and doesn’t spoil a thing about it. It adds a richness and layer of entertainment not even intended by the original team.

#buffy the vampire slayer #jen watches #liveblogging

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